


Four Months

by lettalady



Series: Blips and Blurbs [41]
Category: British Actor RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:54:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26495194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lettalady/pseuds/lettalady
Summary: Prompt fulfillment from 2016: In regards to Tom's tweet about being home, a small bit about Tom finally coming back home to you after being away for four months.Potentially somewhat tied in to the prequel series to TJOURN.
Series: Blips and Blurbs [41]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1925065
Kudos: 4





	Four Months

**F** our months. Four months, which - by my count for those of a curious mind - translates to more than 121 days. I’ll Google the hours soon just to have that information readily available as well. Add in a couple hours for the sake of argument, and because I’ve been counting, truth be told. 

It’s been four months of more fun than should be allowed. Numerous days on fantastic sets in jaw dropping locations, time spent with people I’m incredibly blessed to call friends. Time also spent on the obligatory song and dance - also fun, but in a different way. 

I’ve been away from home far longer. Spent extended spans of time occupied elsewhere, away from London, away from family. Admittedly with a family of a different sort, but… But. Ah the telltale word. 

I wonder if she’s thought of me as often as I’ve thought of her. We’ve kept in contact though that simply isn’t the same as seeing someone in the flesh. Have her feelings for me changed in the time I’ve been away? Mine certainly haven’t mellowed in the slightest. 

We struck a bargain regarding today. I would rest, and if upon doing so felt up to it, she might be convinced to set aside a few hours today. Breakfast was out of the question. Not for exhaustion. I slept on the plane. Rather than call after dropping off my bags and be playfully scolded - a delight from her lips - I’ve attempted to run off some of my excess energy. 

Nerves. Oh how one’s body can betray that which you attempt to keep hidden. Not that I endeavor to hide what I feel. For her I strive to be an open book.

The busy commute hardly slows me, the thrill of being back in the thick of it bringing almost as much joy as the impending reunion. Nearing her door I realize I’m (a) arriving unheralded, (b) should’ve picked up flowers, or at least one of the assorted small trinkets ferried home from abroad for friends and family, and (c) have been so preoccupied by the thought of greeting her that I’ve let all other concerns fall away. 

What if she already has plans for the day? If she had presumed me to be resting as some might do after an event followed by a red-eye flight… If she’s out for whatever reason and I’m left to stand and ring the bell repeatedly like a tit. I should’ve called first. 

That thought nearly pauses me. Nearly makes me unable to step up onto the colorful welcome mat. Nearly. But, well… I am a circus bear, after all.


End file.
